


Two’s Company

by RoseofEden



Category: Red vs Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Carwash, F/M, Freelancer Headcanons, Freelancer OCs, Mentions of Major Character Deaths, Project Freelancer, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-13 23:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19261621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseofEden/pseuds/RoseofEden
Summary: An AU where Carolina chooses to leave Iris and further track down the remnants of Freelancer, and Washington chooses to follow her.





	1. Chapter 1

“Any new leads?”

Wash’s feet were propped on the dash, eyes carefully transfixed on the tracking meters. “I haven’t seen any yet, and Hawaii’s armor’s database isn’t giving me any valuable information.” Carolina replied, her keyboard clicking as she searched through empty files. “Looks like we’ll be sitting around for a while until we find something.”

“I’ll take that opportunity gladly.” He scoffed, a hand wiping his darkened eyes. He hadn’t had a decent sleep in days, they had been too busy tracking down Hawaii and Kentucky to do so.

Carolina glanced to the recovered armor in the corner. Hawaii hadn’t been in the greatest shape when they found him, mangled limbs held together by a Kevlar suit. Someone, or _something_ , got to him before they had. There were no traces of Kentucky on the site except for a faded island postcard signed with her name in purple and red ink. Carolina could remember her armor sharing the same hues.

“I don’t know how you and Epsilon managed all of this for months.” Wash leaned his seat back, a bitterness gracing his voice that stung within a deeper part of her chest.

“You’ve done recovery work before.” She recalled, hands finding their place crossed across her chest. A pain graced his face, digging his brows further into a furrow by what was barely noticeable.

Carolina noticed.

“Yeah, but I had the Project’s resources to work with, programs, orders. It was more cut and dry than what we’re doing now.” His eyes drifted to the dash, fingers wringing fingers in his lap.

“An AI would make all of this, _so_ much easier.”

“We wouldn’t be sitting here waiting around for something, anything to show up, that’s for sure.” Carolina attempted, her own eyes darting to the screen she had pulled up for Hawaii’s files.

No, they would be out doing more field work, finding a new battle to fight, or a new file to sort through.

She had chosen this. The chase, the reclamation of Freelancer, tech and soldier alike.

And Wash? He had chosen to go with her.

She had nearly allowed herself to laugh when he said it. The soft, but stern look that crossed his face was almost childlike.

“I’m serious, Carolina.” He pressed again, brows burrowing deeper into his then-younger eyes. “Why would you?” She scoffed, tiredness threaded into her voice. Her mind wandered to the tiring days spent fighting, and the restless nights that followed. How could she possibly let him leave the comfort Iris provided in favor of _that_?

“I’m not letting you run off on your own again.”

“What about the Reds and Blues? they need someone to be the mediator between them.”

“They’ll be fine. They made it through years in that canyon without killing each other... mostly. We can keep in contact with them, make sure everything’s alright.”

“It’s tough work, Wash. I couldn’t ask that of you-..”

“When has anything we’ve done not been tough?” His expression was smug if not a little pained. The silvery scar that started from his lip and disappeared into his newly grown beard became more apparent with the gesture.

She hadn’t seen him unarmored much before. Here or there in Freelancer, and very rarely on Chorus.

Perhaps he found comfort within the Kevlar and plating.

It wasn’t until they made their home on Iris that the armor made fewer appearances and civilian clothing took its place. She lost track of how many tiny scars littered his fingertips and palms. Tiny silver lines the product of years working with knives.

The rest of him was more scars and freckles than skin, and what was left had tanned to a light gold during their time on Iris.

It matched his warmth, the kind she could liken to the stark winter sun.

A warmth that she had allowed to freeze over too many times, _and she’d be damned if she let it happen again._

“Are you sure?” The words escaped her before she could process their weight.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m positive.”

His voice flickered, the poor connection barely keeping him on the com.

“That tracker’s been faulty before, Wash. We can’t risk another surprise ambush.” She pressed, eyes peering through her visor to the far off rooftop her companion was occupying.

“Just trust me, Carolina.”

“It’s not you I don’t trust.”

A small chuckle crackled over the com, coming out as mostly static. “I fixed it up, for the most part. We’re looking at four guys outside and two indoors near the crate.”

Carolina crept to the far ledge of the building, eyes scanning the distance to their targeted building. She could make out four figures pacing back and forth. So far so good, but who knew if it would be just as accurate indoors.

“Any chance we could get away with a stealth mission? The less of a ruckus we cause, the better.” She spoke, eyes tracing the guard’s routine, uniform footsteps lining the walls. “Carolina turning down a fight, huh?” Wash taunted, his familiar yellow tracker in the corner of her hud inching closer.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh about it later. We just need to obtain the weapons crate inside, and I’ve had my fill of military goons this week.”

“We can try. I wouldn’t get your hopes up on a perfect sweep, though.” He was now standing beside her, gun lowered at his hip, visor reflecting the sunlight as his gaze was fixed on her.

Waiting for her input.

Some time ago, she might have considered that cock of his helmet and expecting stare submission. A soldier awaiting his squad leader’s orders.

But they’d both grown over time, and she knew that glance to be that of an equal. A partner awaiting her opinion, but not relying on it.

“We could go in stealth, and if something goes haywire... when it goes haywire, we can kick it into high gear.” She proposed, an uncertainty she hated creeping into her voice.

“Sounds fine by me.” He shrugged, and she could practically see the smirk that accompanied the nonchalant gesture.

“We’ve got this, Carolina.”

 

* * *

 

_They most certainly did not have it._

Sure, they obtained the crate, they even managed to find some Freelancer files while they were at it. If it was a fair trade for the gash in Carolina’s shoulder, who’s to say?

“Hold still.” Wash scolded softy, fingers pressing firmly into her arm. He had to drag both her and the crate back to their ship, and the exhaustion from that feat alone laced his voice when he spoke.

“Guess your beloved tracker isn’t so precise after all.” She teased through a grimace. The pain was manageable, albeit still excruciating. Wash dabbed gently at the wound with an antiseptic, the prickling sensation melting into the numbing pain she was already feeling. “It must have not been able to pick up the guys around back.”

His hands found rest on her forearm and her collarbone, a tension filling his face that knitted his brows and crinkled his nose. He looked as if he was searching for something to say, and his fingers tightened their grip on her skin with every second that passed.

“I’m sorry Carolina.” He finally managed, a sigh escaping him as he ran a bloodied hand through his tangled hair. It left crimson streaks among the brown, bleached blonde, and grey. It favored the brown and grey roots more than he’d care to admit, she supposed her own weren’t in much better shape.

“It’s alright, I’ve had worse.” Her hands fiddled with the bandage roll in her palm. “Guess my response time isn’t what it used to be.” She added, a bit of bitterness infecting her voice. She wasn’t what she used to be, _who_ she used to be, and she didn’t know if that should upset her or put her at ease.

Wash laughed, a half laugh that was more of an exhale than anything else. The warmth of his fingers traced the dip in her elbow unconsciously, eyes planted on the floor below them. His face wore the lost-in-thought look she had grown to recognize.

“Hey, Wash.” She spoke softly, giving his arm a placid shake. His eyes tore from the floor to meet her own. “I’m okay.” Her voice was more assertive now, more certain. “At least I will be, once we finish getting this bandaged.” She, quite painfully, shrugged her shoulder and placed the roll in his palm. “Ah, right.” He scrambled to unfurl the bandages, red rising in his cheeks.

“Do you think the files we found will be of any help?” He asked, fingers gently weaving the bandaging around her arm. Her mind wandered to the folders upon folders of useless, empty files she had slaved hours over decoding and scanning.

Hawaii’s armor, the most recent fruitless exposition.

It wasn’t too many days ago the frustration of piling failures had hit it’s boiling point. She had nearly ripped the monitor from the desk it was fixed to.

It was Wash that helped put her mind at ease.

Wash, who challenged her to a race around the base they were camped at, and Wash who suggested a call to the Reds and Blues while their connection was still decent.

By the end of the day she had practically forgotten about the armor, about the dead ends she constantly found herself at.

“I don’t know.”

It was an honest answer, one she wasn’t particularly happy with, but one that was fitting nonetheless.

“You’ll be needing to lay low for a little while anyways, to heal this up.” He pointed to her now-bandaged shoulder.

“I said I’m fine.”

The look of amusement that crossed his face was short lived as he quickly tried to stifle it. He gently poked her arm, but it was enough to send a sharp pain throughout her shoulder.

“No, you’re not. I’m going to sift through our spoils, and _you_ ,” he kicked her foot with his own, “are going to rest.”

She didn’t have the time to protest when he stood and exited the renovated living quarters of their pelican, well, maybe it was a stretch to call it that when it only consisted of two mattresses bolted to the floor and a few pictures fastened to the walls with magnets.

Carolina could hear him fiddling with the hard drives they acquired at the front of the ship, metal scraping against metal, and a song she could recall him humming when he cleaned his armor all the way back to Freelancer.

It was different having him here.

When she was with Church, or more fitting when Church was with her, there was no downtime. He always had new information, new fights to win, and they did.

Looking back at it now, she could admit Church was the one pulling in the wins. Making sure her armor was running smoothly, measuring what actions to take to obtain the best outcome, and making sure she didn’t get herself into too much trouble was no easy feat.

She didn’t have the luxury of being a few steps ahead of her adversaries anymore, and for some reason, with Wash in the other room whistling a familiar but foreign song, and the warm scent of her blanket calling her to rest,  _that didn’t scare her nearly as much as it should._


	2. Chapter 2

It was too late for this.

The sun has set ages ago, and the only thing illuminating the room was the monitor’s screen. Wash was barely holding on to consciousness through too many cups of coffee and not nearly strong enough willpower.

His eyes trailed after the information that jotted itself down as the computer read the files, lines appearing at a rate he could barely keep up with. It was mainly equipment diagnostics and inventory logs from years ago.

In short,

it was useless.

Wash slammed his mug down onto the dash, tired eyes ripping from the screen. This was getting exasperating.

He sunk deeper into his chair, fingers curling around one another across his chest. The computer sat on the dash in front of him whirred and puttered in a way that showed the ship’s age, his distaste growing for the thing with every moment that passed. He instead focused on the rhythmic breathing of Carolina, sound asleep in the space behind him.

 _Carolina_.

His mind was pulled to earlier that day, when the sun was still high in the sky. She had crept a few paces ahead of him in haste, their target crate within visible distance. Carolina tended to get tunnel vision when faced with a task. An insatiable competitiveness would take hold of her mind and limbs, and she practically left him in the doorway once her determined eyes landed on the crate.

He didn’t have the time to warn her about the new flickering point on his tracker.

It happened too quickly for him to process the scene unfolding in front of him, and the next thing he knew she was bleeding from somewhere deeper than Kevlar, a fierce fire crossing her eyes as the assailant crumpled by her feet. 

Wash purged the thought and brought a hand to his eyes. He knew it was driving her insane, the waiting games, the stagnation. Carolina was many things, but passive wasn’t one of them. The down time and rest certainly wasn’t what she wanted, but he could only hope it’s what she needed.

Wash, lost in thought and running on the bare minimum nearly didn’t catch the bright green header that flashed across the monitor, a far cry from the usual whiteand black text that stretched as far as the display could manage. 

His eyes latched onto the white lettering that smeared itself across the screen, eyes tracing the bleary curves of every letter, mind taking time to process what he was reading.

Agent Rhode Island - Horus Outpost 5-B

Wash fumbled to click the file before it could be swept away in the inventory catalogs and armor modification records.

He didn’t realize it, but he was holding his breath. Anticipation sent a cold sweat down the back of his neck as he fervently watched the file load.

It was simple, a single document with H.B. 5-B inscribed in the top corner, and the Project Freelancer symbol opposing it. Below were clean looking listings of what appeared to be stationing logs of the outpost. And at the top of the list? Agent Rhode Island.

 He nearly leapt from his chair when he read it, but instead drew closer to the monitor, eyes ripping through the words, soaking in the new information. 

Agent Rhode Island

Status:

Unknown

Below that were his rank description, and dates of entry. From the looks of it, he had been stationed mere months before the true Fall of Freelancer. 

Bingo.

His mind was frantic now, fingers floundering to type the coordinates into the ship’s GPS.

It took a few moments for the computer to process it, and it finally sputtered out a map of where they were in relation to their destination.

It was close.

So incredibly close that Wash felt his pulse quicken to a hammering speed. It would take them a day at most to travel to the planet, and that day could be tomorrow if they were swift in their packing. Carolina’s injury would pose as no threat if she could keep it on the down low and let him take the brunt of the work. 

“What’s going on?” 

He had been so lost in thought he hadn’t notice Carolina peering over his shoulder, fingers gently pressed over his collarbone. She had a habit of showing up and leaving out of nowhere, comparable to a few cats he had when he could still count his age on both hands.

“I think I found a lead.” He could hardly handle the excitement that infused his voice. Her hand tightened it’s grip on his shoulder as she leaned in to the screen. “Thank god. It’s about time we found something useful.”

He watched Carolina as she read the contents of the file, eyes unyielding to the words and numbers that were condensed on the screen.She pulled back abruptly, face leveled with his own. “When do we head out?”

 “We can leave tomorrow if you’re up to it.” He proposed, a concern gracing his voice as his eyes drifted to the bandaged appendage that she held stiffly at her side. 

“Oh please, Wash, I’ll manage.” The retort was accompanied by a curt eye roll, and he could see she was suppressing a smile. Her hand pulled away from his shoulder and landed on the back of the chair he was fixed in, fingers curling naturally over the firm frame. “How long have you been working?” She murmured, eyes darting to the dash, no doubt seeking the time.

“I figured I could get some work done while you rested, must have gotten caught up in it.” His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, voice laced with fatigue. 

“What the hell are you still doing up then? Planning to run on coffee alone?” She scolded, the tone not present in the grin she could contain no longer. “Couldn’t imagine doing so, it’s more water than coffee anyways.” He purred through a yawn. 

“Then get to bed.” She hoisted him from his chair by the hand, and in a fluid motion pushed him towards their living quarters. His hands shot up at his sides as if to surrender, a weighted chuckle escaping his heavy lungs. “Don’t have to tell me twice boss.”

He forgot how comfortable the uncomfortable bed could be when he was desperately tired. It’s thin, somewhat soft mattress with enough give to feel the steel below him was considerably more pleasant than the stiff chair he had been fixed in for hours.

He could faintly hear Carolina’s solid steps enter the room, and through bleary eyes could barely make out the shape of her figure illuminated from behind by the monitor. She was propped against the door frame, eyes set out into the dark expanse of the room. There was a tension she carried, a rigidity he could make out through a half conscious mind and hardly enough light.

”Goodnight, Wash.” she called out, a tremble present in her voice, though he didn’t know if it was a figment of his tired mind or actually veridical.

”Goodnight, Carolina.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Hurry it up, Wash.”

The aggravation in her tone was evident, but the excitement beneath it was something very few could recognize.

Wash was one of those few, and the tapping of her foot behind him wasn’t as nearly as intimidating as it once had been. “Don’t mind me, just moving extremely heavy crates.” His voice was nearly as strained as his back, of which was bent under the weight of the cargo he carried loftily.

Carolina was leaned against the wall, arms crossed carefully over her chest. Her eyes were narrowed, lips pulled taunt into a expression that could only be read as _I told you so._

“You’re the one who insisted I didn’t help.”

It didn’t take a genius to know she couldn’t move the crates. Not when any amount of pressure on her arm was enough to muddle her expression, a tension gracing fine features that she tried to hide behind a determined glare.

She was stubborn, but if his hell of a life had taught him anything, it was that he could be even more so. He had to be, especially when her well being was on the line.

“I just need to secure these before we head out. The last thing we need is highly dangerous military weaponry crashing around back here.” He explained, laboring his hefty steps.

A grin spread across her face, mind glancing back to a time that was neither secure nor safe. “We don’t need another Sedra.”

“We don’t need another Sedra.” He agreed, hands sliding out from beneath the crate as it fell with a thunk to the floor. His hands rose to his forehead, wiping away locks of hair plastered to his skin with sweat. “That was the last of them.”

Carolina quickly hopped up from her position, striding swiftly to his side. “Let me rig them up.” He didn’t have the time to refuse the offer when she took the straps in hand, fingers working the fastenings with precision.

A sigh escaped his chest. There was no stopping her, not for long anyways. He turned his attention to the gray armor piled at the foot of his bed. He hadn’t changed from his Kevlar suit the night before, but he had managed to work his way out of his armor with what little sense he had left.

He hastened in putting it on, the familiar weight was welcome. With it came protection, a sense of safety in an environment where there was little.

He left his helmet, however.

He did, whenever he was around the ship. There wasn’t any need for it when it was just him and Carolina. If they came across trouble he could slip it on with ease.

It made conversation easier, anyways. No barriers of coms and crackling of lost connections to divide them.

“How far off is this place?” She called from her side of the room, cradling her helmet in the crook of her arm.

“Seems Rhode Island was stationed on a planet not far from here.” He watched intently as Carolina strapped her calves into her boots, hands working their way up until she was halfway clad in cyan.

Her fingers fumbled when putting on her left arm’s plating, right arm sluggish where two would have sufficed. “Let me get that for you.” He found his feet reacting before his mouth did, already at her side before the words left his lips.

“You don’t need to babysit me, Wash.” An irritation bubbled in her throat, but her fingers released the armor with ease as he took it into his own. “I know. Agent Carolina doesn’t need someone to look after her, does she?” The words were nonchalant, if not sardonic as his hands wound the plating around her bicep.

“damn straight.” She spoke with a grin. It was short lived, dying into a small smile as her eyes darted to the floor. She looked as if she wanted to say something, perhaps further defend her vulnerability at the time, but kept silent as Wash worked.

“Good to go.” He gave her arm a small pat after finished the forearm’s plating, a short klank filling the space between them. His hand began to retreat when her palm shot out and caught him by the small unarmored space on his wrist. Precise as ever. “Thank you, Wash.” She half murmured, half spat out.

“Don’t mention it.”

Her hand lingered for a moment, and then a moment longer. It was after enough time to notice and not enough to mention that she pulled away, clearing her throat of whatever words she wouldn’t say.

“We better get on with it then.” She huffed, taking firm steps towards the cockpit. He watched her hair, pulled tightly into a low ponytail flick across her broad shoulders. Slices of red against a cyan backdrop, or more fittingly, the remnants of red that remained.

The blonde had taken over, natural and dirty as her hair grew out. On occasion, when her face wasn’t quite in focus or her image was in his peripheral, he’d have to swallow the words that threatened to fall from his mouth.

_You look just like your mother._

The words that he, (but not him, not personally,) found her repeating as tiny fists pulled and snipped at honey blonde hair, strands and locks falling and looking like golden thread against the black she wore as naturally as a shadow.

The words that tall strangers drowned her in as they drowned her mother’s casket in dirt, always, _always_ , followed by “Your eyes are your fathers.”

The eyes that were staring expectingly at him from behind too-long bangs of crimson and honey. “Are you coming?”

He fumbled to take a step forward, then another, and as many as it took to find his place in the stiff chair in front of the dash. He carefully input the coordinates, fingers darting across the keypad.

“Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

* * *

 

“So that’s Horus Outpost 5-B.” Her tone was dry, devoid of the excitement it held before. How could it, when the scene before them looked as it did?

There was hardly a southern wall, broken remnants were spewed across the courtyard where a few battered looking warthogs were parked. The base’s door was missing, jagged metal where the entrance should be. Nature had reclaimed the building, weeds littered its edges and ivy snakes up the walls.

Wash could hear his heart thumping in his chest as Carolina stepped past him. “What the hell happened here?” He could see her hands tensing around her gun, her now donned visor glimmering in the sunlight.

“Looks deserted.” He chipped in, following her lead through the jagged entrance. The base’s common room was filthy, and their boots left prints in the dirt that caked the metal floors. Each step sent dust flying, flashing like diamonds in the sunlight that trailed through the broken wall.

“Looks like no one’s been here for a long time.” Her voice sounded defeated as her fingers swiped the top of the counter. “There still might be clues. We can take a look around.” He suggested, filing into the next room over.

Ivy snaked through the window, suffocating any natural light that tried to fight through. Three cots were pushed in a pile against the wall, and a side table was flush against the third.

Across from that was a bulletin board, a map of the known galaxy pinned in place at the corners. Green string and cobwebs ran from one pin to the next, connecting different outposts and bases spread across the stars.

“They were tracking something, but what?” He murmured, eyes darting from location to location.“Who knows, maybe Rhode Island was looking for other Freelancers, or one of the Sim Soldiers were marking the places they’ve been.” Carolina replied, slinking past him to the rest of the room.

“That wouldn’t explain why no one’s here now.” A creak from behind him and a short inhale through the com were enough to make him turn around.

Carolina had yanked open the side table drawer, her figure muddled by a cloud of dust. He could hear a faint “disgusting” filter through the com as she rummaged through the contents.

“But this might.”

She pulled a book from the side table. The pages were yellowed, and the binding stained. “A book?” Doubt was laced in his voice as he took steps forward to accompany her. She carefully pulled the cover aside, and tapped the first page.

“A _journal_.”

The page was defaced with a hastily scribbled “ _For_ _Rhodey’s_ _eyes_ _only_ ,” in faded ink. “Jesus, what was he, a schoolkid?”

“He wasn’t on the Leaderboard for a reason, it seems.” Carolina purred, a hint of amusement infecting her voice as her eyes traced over the frowny face that followed the message.

“Let’s hope _Rhodey_ kept updated with his journal, and mentioned where he ran off to.”


	4. Chapter 4

 

The sun was low in the sky, turning the planet’s atmosphere a hazy golden color. They had just wrapped up a perimeter check of the premises, checking hangars and grounds until their feet were too sore to walk. It was now that they trudged back to the Pelican, feet as heavy as cement.

Neither of them had said a word for quite some time, minds too preoccupied with questions and unease to do so.

What happened here?

 Where was everyone?

  _And where the hell was Rhode Island?_

That was the thought Carolina’s mind kept returning to. Her hand shifted the journals weight on her hip, Kevlar scraping against the leather binding. She could only hope it held the answers to the questions that plagued her.

Wash stepped ahead to release the ship’s door, and Carolina took it as an opportunity to take off her helmet. The atmosphere was, _humid_ , far more humid than any gulch or moon she had been at previously. There was no room to complain, however. She gave up comfort months ago when her and Wash first began this wild goose chase.

Wash.

The one piece of comfort and familiarity she had. Wash, who was now helmetless, hair matted down to his head with sweat, a look she used to tease him over when she was still his superior. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.” He voiced, fingers curling around the grey and yellow blazed helmet in his palms.

“We can go through the journal while we eat.” She suggested, crumpling into a pile on the lip of the ship’s door. Wash let out a tired chuckle, threw up a hand, and retreated further into the ship. “Sounds good to me. I’ll heat up the cooking pad.”

Carolina fumbled to remove her armor, and did so with relative ease. There was far less precision in yanking off boots and arm plating than in putting it on. Before long, the cyan plating was piled on the floor, and the scent of Instant Noodles filled the thick air.

 Wash gingerly handed her the styrofoam cup, warmth radiating through gloved undersuits as she took in in her own hands. “Cup O’ Noodles again?” She chastened, lips pulled tight into a smirk. Wash took his seat beside her, a laugh pressing out of his throat in a scoff.

“I slave over the cooking pad for you, and this is the thanks I get?” Mischief tainted his pressing tone, and a smile threatened the pout that went along with the overdramatized phrase.

Carolina sluggishly punched his bicep, brows furrowing as the corner’s of her lip’s rose. “Thank you, you’re an inspiration to housewives across the galaxy.” Wash’s laugh was clearer this time, brighter and at the same tone as his speaking voice. A warmth spread through her chest, decidedly that she liked the sound of it, and that she’d quite like to hear it more often. 

“It’s not so bad, at lease we have a good view.” He murmured, eyes drifting to the sunset on the horizon. Carolina looked to the pinks and oranges that painted the sky, eyes falling to the golden clouds that drifted past the treetops. It was beautiful, in a way that felt like a pocket of peace amongst the chaos, or the eye of a storm.

Her hand instinctively reached for the journal, fingers curling around the binding. A pit began to form in her stomach as she pulled it into her lap. “We better get started on this.” She stated, clarity in her voice that wasn’t present in her demeanor. She made no move to open it.

Within the unknown there was hope.

Hope that this wasn’t just a wild goose chase, that there was something they could gain from being here.

But if she read it and there was no signs, no clues, nothing?

She didn’t know if she could stomach that.

“I can read it, if you want.” Wash piped up, hand drifting warily over the book. “Be my guest.” Her voice sounding ever so brittle.

He plucked the journal from her lap, and set his cup aside.

He carefully turned the first page, a slack expression of furrowed brows and parted lips crossing his face that she recognized to be him lost in thought. She could hardly hear the “let’s see” he repeated to himself as he flipped to the beginning of the written pages.

With a quick clearing of his throat, and a hand to his chin, he began to read off the words on the page.

* * *

 

April 27th

 

I figured it was about time I got a new diary. My old one was running out of space, and this is the best I can do while out here where supplies are limited.

 

Arizona and I have been doing okay out here, though I have to admit I forgot how damn hot it was. This armor doesn’t have a cooling system, and it’s hell trying to survive an outdoors shift. Ari say’s we’re just biding our time, that some storm’s going to hit soon enough.

 

He’s cryptic like that, always spouting nonsense about “the end” and the like. The heat’s probably getting to his head.

* * *

 

Carolina pulled closer to him, eyes following the words as they fell from his mouth. “Arizona was here too? Sounds like they got restationed here. What was the date on this?”

 

“It’s only a few years ago.” He murmured, eyes skipping ahead in the text, sifting through the chaff. After some time of quietly flipping through the pages, he pointed to an entry towards the bottom of the page.

* * *

 

Missouri came to visit, said something about needing to find us. I think Ari’s got her on all his conspiracies. He’s been spouting even more nonsense than usual.

Missy and him have been awfully close. I’ve caught them sneaking off a time or two. Heck, even the sim soldiers here have seemed to notice.

It’s not like I care-..

* * *

 

“Oh he definitely cares. Ten laps around the Pelican says he’s got a thing for this Missy.” Carolina purred. Wash replied with a nod and proceeded to read.

* * *

 

-..but I wish they would just tell me what’s going on.If they’re planning something, I’d like to be in the know.

* * *

 

“So that’s three Freelancers that are missing.” Wash’s voice was low, and if he was speaking to himself or to her, Carolina did not know.

There was plenty of mundane entries, days filed away in ink. The sun had completely set by now, and the native bugs of wherever they were sang a chorusaround them. Wash had read snippets here and there, but the intrigue was fading fast as the time between entries grew. Carolina was struggling to keep her eyes open after Wash finished a particularly long entry describing the weather.

“It looks like we’re going to hit another dead end.” She murmured, swaying side to side as sleep threatened to take over. “We still have a few pages left. Don’t lose hope quite yet.” Washington replied, putting a firm hand on her shoulder to steady her.

“ I can continue to read if you want to get some rest.” He offered, a layer of concern glazing his voice. Carolina shook her head, both to refuse and to wake herself up. “I’ll be fine. I’d be a pretty bad partner to make you work on your own again.”

She could feel his finger’s weight shift to the space between her shoulder blades, gently pressing her closer to him. “You looked like you were about to fall over.” He reasoned, an indistinct gruffness taking over his voice. 

If she wasn’t so tired and his figure wasn’t so warm, maybe she would have refuted.

Maybe she wouldn’t have sunken into his frame, his arm slack around her shoulder as she nestled into the crook of his arm.

Maybe she wouldn’t have closed her eyes, focusing on the lilted steady voice that read the misadventures of three Freelancers and a faulty Warthog with a dramatization that was so fittingly _Wash_.

Maybe she wouldn’t have drifted into a somewhat sleep, his voice melting in her unconscious as she half-heard him shut the book and set it aside, feeling his eyes trace her in a way she doubted he would do if she were fully conscious.

Maybe the churning in her stomach and the fire in her chest would never have unfurled with that aching vigor that terrified her so.

 

And Wash?

 

_Maybe_. 

 

 

 

 


End file.
